


Physical Nightmares

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epilepsy, Epileptic Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 16:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18369986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: Written for the 2018-19 Sam Winchester Zine, "My Soul Take Flight"Go to samwinchesterzine.tumblr.com to download the full PDF file and enjoy the many fics, art pieces, and other Sam-centric projects put together by a variety of talented creators.This fic was encouraged and betaed by @saxxxology





	Physical Nightmares

The first seizure hits in the car on the way home.

It's late and Sam's been asleep in the passenger seat for a few hours when he stirs. He yawns, opens his eyes, and is moving to stretch when his body goes rigid. His mouth opens in a noiseless cry, his back arches, and he starts to shake.

“Sam?” Dean shouts, slamming on the brakes and yanking the car over to the shoulder as a semi screams pass, horn blaring. “Sammy!”

The seizure only lasts about thirty seconds before Sam goes limp. His cheeks are wet with tears and his chest heaves with desperate breaths. His jaw’s tense and locked, lips pressed tightly together.

“Sammy?” Dean says softly, one hand reaching to cradle Sam's head.

“D'n?” Sam slurs, eyes barely opening. “Wh’ h'pp'ned?” His head lolls in Dean's hands.

“I don't know,” Dean tells him, gently wiping his cheeks. “I think… I think you had a seizure. Sam, we gotta get you to a hospital.”

He throws the car in drive and swings out onto the road again. He’d noticed a sign for a hospital a while back and he's pretty sure they haven't passed the exit number yet.

“H'spit'l?” Sam questions. “I'm t'ired.”

“Don't you fall asleep on me, Sammy. Keep your eyes open.”

“D'n,” Sam whines, leaning into Dean's hand on his cheek. “T'red.”

“I know you're tired. We're almost there, okay? Just a little while longer.”

Sam groans, body swaying toward Dean when the Impala screeches into the hospital parking lot. Dean manages to find a spot close to the doors and barely remembers to turn the car off before running around the car to crouch beside Sam.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, slinging Sam's arm over his shoulder and attempting to lift him out of the car. Sam's body is limp and almost doll-like against Dean's. “You gotta help me out here. I can't lift you.”

“C'n't,” Sam whimpers, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

Dean's heart is in his throat. What if the seizure was just a sign of something more serious?  _ Why can't Sam move? _

Dean forces himself to take a deep breath, eyeing the distance to the doors of the ER. If Sam could walk, it would be possible, but Dean knows he can't possibly carry his limp brother.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I'm gonna run inside for help. Stay here, I'll be right back.”

“No, don't-” Sam's fingers curl weakly into Dean's shirt.

“I have to get help.” Dean pries Sam's fingers free - it doesn't take much effort, Sam's so weak. “I'll be right back, I promise.”

Sam makes a soft, frightened sound that feels like a knife in Dean's heart even as he moves away. Thankfully, though, he doesn't have to go far. A quick glance around reveals two paramedics crossing the lot, clearly returning from a break judging by the fast food bags they're carrying.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, taking a few steps in their direction and waving. “Help!”

Both men swing around at his words, eyes scanning the parking lot. “What's going on?” the older of the two asks as they begin moving toward him.

“My brother,” Dean explains. “He had some kind of seizure and now he can't walk. I can't get him into the ER on my own.”

The younger paramedic crouches beside Sam, taking Sam's pulse and looking into his eyes. “Sir? Can you hear me? What's your name?”

“S'm,” is the slurred reply. Sam's cheeks are still damp with tears.

“Sam,” the paramedic repeats. “I'm Danny. That's my partner, Kyle. We're gonna get you inside, okay?” You're a big dude, so it's gonna be a process, but I promise we'll get you to help.”

Sam makes a soft noise of agreement. “D'n?” he asks.

“I'm right here,” Dean says, crouching beside the paramedic and cradling Sam's face in one hand. “I've got you, little brother.”

“One of you under each of his arms,” Kyle instructs. “I'll get his feet.”

Danny nods. “Good plan, Kyle.”

Danny maneuvers Sam's feet out if the car onto the asphalt while Dean holds Sam upright. Once he's sitting sideways in the door, Dean and Danny manage to get under each of Sam's arms.

“One, two,  _ lift _ ,” Kyle says.

Dean obeys, heaving Sam up and out of the car. Once they're clear, Kyle closes the door before crouching in front of Sam to grip his ankles and lift his feet. Sam whimpers and Dean gently shushes him, murmuring soothing words ss they start toward the ER doors.

Everything goes into overdrive once they're inside. Kyle calls for nurses, who rush over with a gurney. Sam is lifted onto it and Dean takes hold of his hand while Kyle gives the nurses information - pulse is slightly elevated, reported to have had a seizure in the last ten minutes, etc.

Suddenly the gurney is moving and Sam's hand is yanked from Dean's grip. Panic wells up in Dean's chest, especially when he glimpses Sam's frightened expressed as he's wheeled away, but Danny's strong arms are holding him back, keeping him from his brother as the doors swing closed -

“Dean!”

He whirls toward the familiar voice, hope blossoming when he recognizes the pretty young brunette hurrying toward him.

“Alex,” he sighs. He hadn't realized they were so close to Sioux Falls.

Her small hand rests on his arm, a grounding touch he desperately needs. He never thought he would be so glad to see Alex, who he doesn't even know all that well.

“You know him?” Kyle asks, glancing between them.

“Yeah, they're my cousins,” Alex says. “Jody's nephews. Dean, where's Sam? What happened?”

“He had a… a seizure,” Dean manages. The adrenaline has been pumping ever since it hit and now he's starting to come back down. “Or something that looked like one.”

Alex nods. “Okay. They'll be taking him back for tests. I'll let Dr. Blackwood know he's here while you start filling out paperwork.”

“Need to call Mom,” Dean whispers, letting her lead him toward a corner where the receptionist counter is low enough for two people to sit on either side.

“Get this paperwork sorted,” Alex says. “Then I'll call Jody and you can call your mom.”

 

Sam's heart feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest.

He's alone in an observation room - he's not sure how long it's been but it feels like hours - with sensors attached to his forehead and scalp. Probably reading his brainwaves.

He's just so tired.

“Sam, correct?” a motherly older woman asks, leaning over his bed.

“That's me,” he answers. He might still be tired, but he's definitely feeling a little stronger. At least he's not slurring his words anymore.

She smiles softly down at him. “I'm Dr. Blackwood. Alex told me you were here. I'll be your doctor.”

“Alex?” _ Jody's Alex? _

Dr. Blackwood nods. “I know who you and your brothers are and what you do. My husband is a hunter.”

A wave of relief washes through him at those words. No lying, no scrambling for answers. He can tell her the truth.

“Dean says you had a seizure in the car,” Dr. Blackwood continues. “Tell me about it. What were you doing when it happened?”

Sam furrows his brow, forcing himself to think back to that terrifying moment he never wants to relive. “I was sleeping. It happened just after I woke up.”

Dr. Blackwood nods, making a note on a tablet. “And you've never experienced a seizure before tonight?”

“Never.”

“I assume you and your brother are returning from a hunt. Were you injured on that hunt?”

Sam swallows, one hand automatically flying to his throat. He can still feel the pressure of the shifter's hands, blocking his windpipe.

“I, um… I was… strangled,” he finally says. “Only partially, but yeah. I got knocked around a bit and strangled. That's a, um… semi-regular occurrence.”

Her frown is concerned. “Being strangled?”

He nods and she makes another note.

“Okay. Let's go through your medical history.”

Medical history takes a while. Sam doesn't know much about his parents in this area, plus he's not sure anything from before the Cage really counts, since all those scars were gone when he came back - well, all except for the new ones he got while he was soulless.

Once they're done with that, Dr. Blackwood explains that the sensors on his head are for an EEG test. She also points out a camera set up in one corner, which he hadn't noticed.

“The EEG monitors your brain waves,” she explains. “And then the camera lets me keep an eye on you if another seizure happens. I'll be able to better diagnose once I know exactly what kinds of seizures you're having. Then we can move to treatment.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” Sam asks.

“I'm not sure. Tomorrow we'll do a CT scan and an MRI, which will also give more a better idea of what we're dealing with. In the meantime, I want you to rest. Seizures are exhausting on every level and I'm actually impressed you're so alert right now. You need your sleep.”

Sleep sounds like the last thing Sam wants to do right now. After what happened last time? His stomach twists at the thought.

“What if… what if I have another seizure?”

She lays a warm, soft hand on his shoulder. “I'll be here. Dean will be in soon. He has Jody with him and your mom is on his way. You won't be alone. Plus, as I said, a second seizure will help me know how to prevent more seizures from happening in the future.” She gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know you're scared, but you're safe here. Do you trust me?”

He does. He just met her and he feels like he could trust her with his life. Sam nods.

“Then trust me to do my job. I'll take care of you, Sam. I promise.”

 

Sam is asleep.

Dean was worried at first, but Dr. Blackwood assured him everything was fine. Nothing was seriously wrong after the first seizure, Sam was just exhausted.

“I'm his  _ mother _ . Let me see my son!”

Dean pops his head up at the familiar voice. He shoots Sam a quick glance - still asleep - and then gets up. He pushes the door open and steps out into the hall, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Mom?” he calls.

She's standing by the nurse's desk about twenty feet away, leaning over it a little in an attempt to threaten an unimpressed nurse. She whirls at the sound of Dean's voice and all the tension leaves her body.

“Dean,” she sighs, rushing toward him. She hugs him tight before stepping back to hold his face in his hands. “My poor boy. You look so tired. Where's Sam? How is he?”

“Sam's in there,” Dean answers, gesturing to the door he just exited. “He's asleep right now. The kid was worn out.”

Mary nods. It's taking all her willpower to stay in the hall. “What did the doctor say?”

Dean explains the EEG, the video camera, and the tests scheduled for the next day. “Dr. Blackwood will probably want to get more medical history details from you,” he continues.

“I can do that. You need some sleep.”

Dean shakes his head. “I'm fine, Mom. Jody's bringing coffee, I'll be okay.”

As if on cue, the elevator dings and Jody steps out, carrying two steaming travel cups.

“Mary,” she says brightly. “It's good to see you. I didn't realize you were already here, or I would've brought you coffee, too.”

She holds a cup out to Dean, but Mary snatches it up and gives him a stern look.

“Dean, you  _ will _ go get some sleep. Not in a chair, not in the Impala. In a real bed.”

Jody’s smirking, and Dean knows this is a battle he’ll never win.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

Mary pats his cheek. “Good boy.”

“I'll drive you back to my place,” Jody says, digging her car keys from her pocket.

“Thanks, Jody.” Mary gives Dean another hug. “I don't want to see you for at least ten hours. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. I'll call if anything happens.”

 

Sam sighs, shifting his hips to try and escape the mattress spring that's digging into his thigh. As soon as he moves, though, suddenly he  _ can't  _ move, can't breathe, can't even call for help. His ears are ringing, his body shaking uncontrollably.

_ Not again, not again… _

It's over just as quickly as it began. It’s not as intense as the first one, but the rebound from it is just as long. When he falls limp on the bed, his whole body feels like dead weight. A soft whimper escapes him and he feels the sting of tears.

“Sam,” a quiet voice says. Small hands brush his hair back and wipe his cheeks.

He forces his eyes open to find Mary looking back at him, her eyes filled with concern and fear. She gives him a watery smile.

“There you are,” she murmurs, stroking his hair. “Hi.”

“Mom,” he breathes, feeling a fresh wave of tears well up. He's never felt like this before - like everything will be okay because his mom is with him. He's still scared, still tired, but the  _ relief  _ that comes with just looking at her face? It's like a weight he never knew he was wearing has been lifted from his chest.

“I'm here.” Mary leans in to kiss his forehead. He shudders, soaking in the contact. All he wants is to curl up in her arms and never leave them again. She seems to sense this, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and curling her arm around his neck. His head is tucked against her shoulder, where he can feel the beat of her heart. He focuses on that, forcing himself to match his breathing to the steady  _ bu-bum _ against his cheek. “I'm here, baby. It's okay. You're gonna be okay. The doctor's coming, she'll be able to help you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, too tired to do anything else. So tired he's sure he's gonna fall asleep again any second now and he doesn't want that. That can't happen. If he falls asleep, he'll have another one and he knows he won't be able to handle it.

Dr. Blackwood sweeps into the room, hurrying straight to Sam's side.

“Sam,” she says gently. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, opening his eyes again.

“Okay.” She pats his hand. “We got some good statistics from that. I know it was scary, but this will help us put together a treatment plan for you. You're probably still tired. You need to sleep.” He makes a soft, desperate sound at that. “I know it's scary, but you need sleep, Sam. You can't avoid it forever.”

Those words conjure memories he would rather forget, of a car accident and a different hospital and Lucifer. He leans into Mary's embrace, fighting that train of thought. He can already feel himself falling asleep again and the last thing he needs right now is nightmares.

“Sleep,” Mary tells him, rocking gently. “I'll be right here.”

So he sleeps.

 

_ Epilepsy. Nocturnal seizures. Pills. _

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, like that will do anything to block out Dr. Blackwood’s words. She’s explaining his treatment options - the medications she can prescribe, the lifestyle choices he can make - but Sam’s not listening. He doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to hear this.

He can’t.

“Sammy.”

Dean’s voice breaks through the whirl of his thoughts, warm and familiar. Solid like the hand curling around his wrist. He opens his eyes to see concerned, desperate green looking back at him.

“She’s trying to help,” Dean whispers. Behind him, Mary is nodding. “Let her help. This isn’t something we can just figure out on our own.”

Sam shudders, fighting the urge to curl in on himself. Dean notices the way his shoulders hunch, though, and gives his wrist a squeeze.

“You’ll get through this,” he says. “If anyone can do it, my little brother can.”

Sam’s not so sure, but Dean’s confidence eases the tightness in his body and allows him to look up at Dr. Blackwood, who’s waiting patiently.

“What…” he pauses, forcing a swallow to get his voice working right again. “What medication do you recommend?”

 

The wendigo lets out an ear-splitting screech as it goes up in flames. Sam flinches away from the sound and light. He’s been meticulous about his medication, but he has a feeling tomorrow is going to be rough for the first time in almost six months.

“That’s my boy!” Dean says, popping Sam in the shoulder playfully. “Good job. I knew you could do it.”

“Oh, that’s why it took a year for you to let me hunt again?” Sam prods, his smile keeping his words from coming across too harshly. He knows Dean means well and, to be honest? He knows now he wasn’t ready to hunt then.

Dean grins and ruffles Sam’s hair, laughing at the indignant “hey!” and the way Sam smacks his hand. “You know it.”

Mary is helping the surviving victim stand - a pretty young woman who can’t stop staring at all three of them. “You did good, Sam,” Mary says when he approaches,

“Thanks, Mom,” he murmurs, leaning into her side hug. “That sound, though…”

He trails off, but she understands. “I understand. We’ll be there, Sam. You won’t be alone.”

Sam feels the little knot of tension in his chest loosen at her words and he presses his cheek to the top of her head, catching Dean’s concerned expression across the room. She’s right. He’s got two people right here in this stupid filthy wendigo lair who will be by his side no matter what.


End file.
